


Sorry, Dad

by fuckingsherlock



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, VIXX
Genre: Demigods, Fluff, Greek Mythology - Freeform, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2018-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 05:01:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6840070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuckingsherlock/pseuds/fuckingsherlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jung Taekwoon, son of Poseidon, is an ungrateful brat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Claimed

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a huge fan of VIXX and the Percy Jackson series so I hope you enjoy this fic as much as I enjoy writing about such indulgent things!

He feels the water change. Every fiber of his being curiously calculating the aquatic surroundings in which he lingered.

Taekwoon could’ve sworn he was just on the beaches of Jeju Island with his brat of a roommate, Hyuk, just a moment ago. Their school was on their infamous and unwelcomed graduation trip to some out-of-the-way outskirts of Jeju Island.

The last thing he recalls is Hyuk and Taekwoon betting their Friday barbeque meat rations on whoever could hold their breath underwater the longest. Between all the nauseating flights and obnoxious pranks throughout the night, Taekwoon didn’t get much sleep. So really, Hyuk should’ve been paying more attention when somewhere along the 12 minute mark underwater, Taekwoon’s drowsy eyes drifted shut.

To say that Hyuk is concerned that Taekwoon never came up for air is possibly the understatement of the century.

Taekwoon feels the density, current, and salty hint of the ocean, gradually transition into a clean, pure: freshwater. The distant hushing of water nymphs breaks the teen out of his reverie. He lays there in the depth of freshwater he’s enveloped by. It’s evening and it’s eerily dark.

Shit.

"Where am I?" Taekwoon hears his voice ripple slowly through the water. His head feels like it’s filled with cotton; absorbing and muffling every sound.

‘Camp Half-Blood, Half-Blood Hill, Farm Road 3.141,’ his instincts supply instantly and Taekwoon tries to rub the sleep from his eyes only to realise that his face completely dry. Drip free. Spotless. The thick fabric of Taekwoon's swimming trunks sway in the current as it should in water, but his hair is as greasy and dry as it was before; clearly in dire need of a bath.

Okay. Right. _ What? _

Taekwoon always had a freaky sense of direction. In fact, Taekwoon would usually be able to decipher the precise coordinates of where he was standing, sometimes even the street name. But never the address.

But then again, Taekwoon never woke up 6 feet underwater in nothing but swim trunks. Everything seems so bizarre that Taekwoon is convinced he's dreaming. It has to be a dream.

A grouper swims idly by, the moonlight refracts off its scales, making the surrounding water glisten and gleam. Taekwoon thinks that this is the most peaceful dream he’s ever had.

Abruptly, the water is pulled out from under him. Getting further and further away, someone -- God, he hopes not something -- is hauling him out of the lake by his torso and dragging him out onto a dim, sandy shore.

He'd struggle but something hot and heavy is pushing heavily down on his chest, imprisoning him flat on his back onto the painfully sharp grainy sand. Instinctively, Taekwoon squeezes his eyes shut to prevent any sharp sand grains from scratching at his eyes.

His mind begins to race desperately with: he can't breathe, ‘What's going on?’, ‘Who's there?’, ‘What do you want from me?’. The lake’s staggered cold stab his toes longingly; begging him to return. And with the fear kicking in, he’s just about ready to grab and take down whatever’s holding him down to dive right back into the icy lake.

That’s when Taekwoon hears voices gather around him, and freezes. Deer caught in the headlights.

And then someone starts screaming.

“He’s dead?! Oh my gods, he’s dead! Someone’s  _ dead _ !”

“How- How could you go and kill someone?! It’s just capture the flag for Christ sa-,” Taekwoon stiffens fractionally as an unexpected angry bark of thunder interrupted. 

“KIM WONSHIK!” snapped a piercing voice.

The voice, Taekwoon finally notices, undoubtedly came from the man who was apparently holding down Taekwoon.

“Don’t you DARE accuse your elders like that,” Despite it’s noticeable tremor, the alarmed crowd quiets down to listen to the higher voiced man.

“Our whole team was down in forest north, protecting our flag, when I spotted…” The young man hesitates, “it...at the bottom of the lake.”

Taekwoon wonders how he got from Korea’s number one delinquent high school’s graduation trip, to being assumed dead on some shady beach God knows where.

Then the pressure on Taekwoon's chest literally vanishes, and he hears the man in question step away. The crowd’s attention audibly shifts.

So Taekwoon takes the opportunity to escape.

Holding entirely still, in hopes that no one will notice, there’s a tugging sensation in Taekwoon’s gut. Small waves splash the shore where he lies, gently coaxing the damp shards of sand out from under him, swallowing him inch by inch back into the river. He doesn't question the laws of physics because he just needs to get out of this situation as fast as he can.

So Taekwoon just keeps focusing on the water, mentally encouraging the water to move closer; yes, just like that, good. Taekwoon must be delusional because he thinks he can feel the tide purring happily against his toes like a kitten.

But just as Taekwoon thinks he’s home free, nearly hip deep in water, he feels something sharp stab through the fabric of his swimming trunks and onto the shore, making escape impossible.

His eyes twitch open a barely-noticeable fraction to see an arrow pierced through his favourite trunks. Can this day get any worse?

“Thank you, Hongbin,” a deeper, older voice acknowledges, and the crowd instantly hushes to a pin-drop silence. Curious now, Taekwoon's eyes peek open wider, in time to spot an approaching figure step into the clearance of the shore, pausing only briefly to pat the shoulder of a tall teen.

A horse approaches. No- A man riding a horse. His eyes snap open. No. Taekwoon feels the icy tide crash against his back and heave him into an upright position to flee and he’s given up subtlety in order to get the fucking arrow out of his trunks immediately because the man’s chest is connected to the body of a horse, holy fucking hell this man needs an ambulance he’s obviously in need of some medical atten-

**“Son of Poseidon.”**

Taekwoon stops.  _..What? _

The ambulance-needing-horse-man has an odd expression. As if the three words leave a bad aftertaste in his mouth. Then he kneels.

Kneels? How does a horse kneel? How is this man alive and talking? Taekwoon’s head is spinning now in confusion, repeating “what the hell is going on” of different variations then Taekwoon’s eyes roll to the back of his head and he thinks he’s actually going to pass out but there’s a sudden choir of gasps and-

He sees a light.

_ Is this the end? _

**No, you idiot.**

_..Dad? _

A faint glow of green illuminates the dark shore.

If Taekwoon hadn’t opened his eyes he wouldn’t even have noticed the soft light. He wouldn’t have noticed the ghost of a trident hovering two inches above his head. Nor would he have noticed the crowd of orange-shirt, shell-shocked students.

But he does open his eyes and he is stunned by the murderous gaze of a tanned man with a beaded necklace, as he voices Taekwoon’s exact thoughts: “What. The. Shit.”

_ Ah, _ Taekwoon thinks,  _ Being dead would be less embarrassing than this. _


	2. N

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Pretty ironic to see the son of Poseidon drowning, does that happen to you often or am I just lucky?”

The crowd of kids all stare at Taekwoon with something akin to horror, as if they all know something he doesn't. And Taekwoon is pretty sure it had nothing to do with the fact that he isn’t actually dead.

So Taekwoon panics.

Those fastest in the crowded race to chase after the Son of Poseidon, but Taekwoon is too quick. He rips out the immaculately carved arrow from his swim trunks and dives into the water as fast as he can, where the waves erupt out of its shy swaying and meet him halfway in his jump to engulf Taekwoon back into the depths of the creek in one swift bite. The rushing of the water silences the pounding of his fragile heart, and the icy bite of the water serves to cool his rising panic. Without a second's hesitation, Taekwoon sprints away blindly; seeking the direction of the familiar ocean.

Son of Poseidon? What the hell was that?

One of the foundations of Jung Taekwoon is that he hides behind his ability to appear to care less, to appear unaffected by those around him. His ability to appear unaffected by his Dad’s cold-hearted abandonment of Taekwoon and his Mom when she was 7 months pregnant. Taekwoon shudders because even the most bitter thought of his Dad induces a wave of unwelcome warmth in the current, as it always did, like some ongoing joke.

His Dad. Poseidon?

There were always things Taekwoon vaguely recalled happening, but couldn’t quite rationalize it enough to believe it actually happened. Like that time Taekwoon caused the kitchen sink to overflow in a toddler’s fit, from his crib in his bedroom. Or how Taekwoon was recruited for the state youth swim team at 7, on his first visit to the pool. Ever. Or how Taekwoon survived being thrown off the Golden Gate Bridge that one summer. How Jung Taekwoon is still alive.

And sure, thinking back really isn’t doing Taekwoon any favours. These ‘coincidences’ are impossible to believe, much less actually happen. But Taekwoon can’t. He can’t admit the erratic events and outcomes that can only be explained by his Dad’s true identity. Because that would mean acknowledging that his Dad was always there. Always protecting him.

Taekwoon feels sick with the realisation. Because there is no way to ignore all the facts once they’ve been brought to his attention.

His Dad is Poseidon.

His fist clenches. Greek God or not, he abandoned his wife and son when they needed him most and made his son into a freak of nature. If his Dad really is that Greek God he’s studied about in school, then the man doesn’t deserve any of the damn respect he gets, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to hear Taekwoon’s thanks.

Not in this lifetime.

His nails dig into his pruned palms, knuckles turning an alarming shade of white. Unable to hold himself back, Taekwoon lets out a scream. His breath bubbles cheerfully in the freshwater and spits in his face as if to spite him. He stands at the bottom of the lake, breathing hard through his nostrils, trying to regain his composure.

“I wish you never met her.” Taekwoon manages, tears lodged in his throat. “I wish I didn’t exist if that meant you would’ve stayed, you bastard.” His voice is hot and spiteful, the curse feels foreign on his tongue the same way that Taekwoon feels alienated from the world.

Then, icy water pops his dry bubble and all the air is abruptly slammed out of Taekwoon. Taekwoon can’t breathe. His lungs are caving in on itself due to the pressure of the water's depth, they’re set aflame from oxygen deprivation, no. No no no.  What’s going on, what’s going on, _am I going to_ **_drown?_ **

Desperately trying to inhale air, Taekwoon inhales freshwater into his lungs. Lots of it. The pain is so blinding that he barely registers something warm wrapping around his waist from behind and yanking him towards the surface.

Taekwoon is indebted, thankful. But also embarrassed and ashamed. He knew those water nymphs had paid more attention to him than they let on. But he is too preoccupied coughing his lungs out on the coarse pebbled shore to notice that the water nymph was actually just a tanned young man. A kid not much older than Taekwoon, who's bead necklace had pressed so tightly up against Taekwoon's broad shoulders that the bruises were going to last for days.

Taekwoon finds himself choking on his anger toward his _Father_ and his willingness to kill and betray Taekwoon -- despite all the shit he’s put Taekwoon through already -- more than the actual water until he’s struck by bouts of retching, too far gone to notice a reassuring pair of hands pulling his oily fringe back out of his face. His eyes prickle with pain. From shame. It takes him a moment to comprehend that this his father did this to him deliberately, that he was listening to Taekwoon. That he was there with Taekwoon. Everywhere.

And just like that, Taekwoon is stranded.

Tremors still running through his body from both the icy water and the adrenaline, Taekwoon inhales and exhales shakily. Slowly, he calms down enough to silently thank any other God that he's alive.

That’s when he finally notices the warmth. The feeling of a hot latte in his bed after a rainy Autumn day. And Taekwoon is just so _tired_ , he doesn’t know nor care really, about how and what feels so safe and comforting. He feels like he could fall asleep right there and after that nightmare, he went through, he sure as hell deserved a second or two.

His eyes blink blearily and for a moment he’s in his mother’s embrace, he’s six again, he’s safe. His head lolls to the side in exhaustion, slumping against something firm. Something warm.

Taekwoon's eyes fly open in confusion and his head whips up gingerly, breath catching in his throat because only then does Taekwoon notice that he’s being held tightly in an embrace by a very wet young man, that looks at Taekwoon with the softest chocolate eyes; three inches away from Taekwoon’s face.

Taekwoon jerks out of the stranger’s embrace and scrambles to get away from the half-naked man. He stares agape in shock. The brunet man wore only a beaded necklace and soaked battered shorts. Despite his drenched appearance, he radiates warmth like a fire on a winter's night.

The young man gives Taekwoon a smile warmer than summer. Taekwoon flinches. It's too bright to look at.

“Hey,” the tanned teen offers gently, and Taekwoon indistinctly registers that his voice sounds familiar, before dumbly thinking that this man’s voice is liquid ambrosia to Taekwoon's reddened ears. His hands move slowly, afraid of scaring Taekwoon like a small animal, to reassure Taekwoon that he means well. “Are you okay?”

Taekwoon blinks. And blinks again. The beach is silent and he finally notices that they’re sitting in a dark secluded clearing of the creek.

He barely recognises the brunet without the murderous intent on his face, but the intricate bead necklace he's wearing sparks some familiarity in Taekwoon. He must be the young man who first spotted Taekwoon in the water, the one who deemed him dead. Why is he here?

“Pretty ironic to see the son of Poseidon drowning, does that happen to you often or am I just lucky?” The tanned man rambles naturally, laughing nervously in Taekwoon’s absence of a response. As if Taekwoon wasn’t even threatened by death a few minutes ago.

“I suppose you aren’t just ‘son of Poseidon’, but then again I wouldn’t know what else to call you because we just met so...” He ends awkwardly, nervously trying to tame his wet sideburns.

Taekwoon attempts to process what on earth was happening. But the silence is clearly beginning to grow uncomfortable for the young man. So to ease his misery, Taekwoon attempts a nonchalant,

“What do you want?” that comes out as a croak of displeasure and triggers another wet coughing fit.

The tanned man abandons his abhorred small talk and smoothly closes the distance between him and Taekwoon to rub soothing circles on the expanse of Taekwoon's damp back, knowing full well not to jostle him. The warmth and comfort he brings Taekwoon by just a touch are electrifying. The hairs on Taekwoon's arms rise at the welcomed sensation, his tremors return in different a measure. So Taekwoon tries to push him away, but the man just hushes Taekwoon, holds him, and tells him to breathe.

So Taekwoon does.

This time, Taekwoon doesn’t bother pulling away from the odd embrace. Instead, he attempts a short gasp. “...N.”

“N?” Laughs the young man easily, obviously seeing through his sad attempt call him ‘hyung’. His laughter resonates in Taekwoon’s skull like wedding church bells. Disgustingly romantic but God, is it a blessing to hear.

“Well then, son of Poseidon,” the other ignores Taekwoon’s cringe at the mention of his Dad, “If you’re going to call me N,” _N_ says it in the exact pitiful way Taekwoon had, “Then I’ll call you Leo.”

Leo gives N the most unimpressed look that he could manage while feeling like he’s just been crushed underneath a car.

“Hey you don’t get a say in how cool your nickname is when mine is just a grunt,” N attempts to sober up, only to snicker childishly, “Actually, since you clearly can’t talk, you don’t get a say at all.”

At this point, Taekwoon has drowned out N’s rambling long enough to realise that N’s probably his only way out of this place. It’s not like Taekwoon could enter the water without getting mauled by a spontaneous, miraculous swarm of piranhas. What with his literal God of a father out to get him and all.

“...told me to bring you back to camp,” Taekwoon tunes back in, “He said that it’s too dangerous to let you out of the magic barrier without teaching you how to fight the monsters.”

What?

His expression must’ve conveyed his confusion because N pulls Taekwoon up onto his feet and wraps his arm around Taekwoon’s waist. Taekwoon obediently cooperates as N wordlessly guides them through the long beach towards the camp he mentioned. He’d be crazy to refuse N’s help navigating the wilderness as the night begins to dawn quickly.

Taekwoon’s arm supports his weight by wrapping around N’s shoulders and presses against N’s clattering necklace. Each bead gleams with details in the dim moonlight. He must have at least a dozen hand-painted beads, but one particular bead below N’s Adam’s apple catches Taekwoon’s eye: a black bead with a green trident.

Mesmerized with curiosity, Taekwoon barely registers when the sandy beach floor morphs into the soft green moss of the forest. Then, after a good hour of baby steps, stumbling, and a colourful assortment of curse words, a large community of houses come into view. It’s too late into the night to be sure but Taekwoon thinks he sees 12 small houses in an unconventional U-shape.

“Over there’s the Big House,” N whispers as if there is anything on the deserted hill that he could wake up. He points further into the darkness and Taekwoon can only see the faintest of green hues gleaming in the distance. “You’ll need to go there to talk to Chiron in the morning, but for now, let’s get you home.”

Home. Taekwoon feels like weeping in joy in disbelief that this man is going to help him go home, then he realises N is dragging him toward the arrangement of houses. Stubbornly, Taekwoon croaks a string of gasping ‘no’ and ‘stop’ as he digs his heels into the ground, trying to stop N from moving him any closer to the ominously shaped arrangement.

Unfortunately for Taekwoon, with N’s persistence and Taekwoon’s defences weakened, Taekwoon was basically tackled into an old cabin near the arch of the U. Like a really old-looking cabin. He covers his face and holds his breath, expecting there to be nothing but dust. N lets out of a huff of laughter next to him.

“Open your eyes,” N promises with three words and Taekwoon can’t help but comply. “What do you see?”

Taekwoon is speechless.

The cabin smells of home. Of their tiny apartment back in Seoul. Where his mother used to tell stories of how she met his father in that very neighbourhood: A collision with a friendly neighbour who refused to see his mother carry so many groceries by herself. A living mystery who managed to capture his mother’s heart.

There’s an ocean breeze inside the cabin, humid yet cool. Iridescently, the walls glow a sea of colours. Holographic aquamarine, turquoise, lilac and emerald specks of light dance upon the ceiling as the abalone lined walls reflect the faint glow of a breathtaking water fountain in the corner of the room. Despite the water fountain’s ethereal structure, it has an obvious scar through its middle, where it is hastily melded back together with a bronze metal.

It is the only evidence of life existing in the cabin before Taekwoon and N stepped foot inside.

Taekwoon is stunned by how close to his roots the atmosphere is, and how dangerously deep he was in Poseidon’s territory that he begins to worry he might start combusting spontaneously.

When Taekwoon is finally settled in bed and N rises to leave, Taekwoon is flooded with confusion. The cabin could easily hold twenty people and yet, only Taekwoon and three unoccupied beds take up the expanse of the room.

“This isn’t my cabin to just stay in, Leo,” N smiles softly at Taekwoon. Understanding of his distress without a word or second of hesitation.

“Good night, Leo,” N whispers as he pulls the cabin door shut behind him to return to his cabin, stealing away all of the warmth and homeliness with him.


	3. Oracle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As much as Taekwoon wants to pretend that this camp is just another summer camp, the decor of all the cabins, the living myths that casually walk through the camp, make it hard to ignore what everything in the camp represents:  
> Gods, damn it.

Taekwoon jolts awake in cold sweat from a night full of droughts and deserts, famine and ferocious fires. He vaguely recalls itching loneliness engulfing and suffocating him in the darkness of the night.

The sunshine streaming like gold through the sheer silk curtains of the cabin shake his consciousness awake. Why did N say this was not his cabin to stay in? Would N be opposed to staying with Taekwoon next time?

The thought sends a chill down his spine. Because Taekwoon has no idea who N is, what his real name is, and what his intentions are. How could he trust someone like that?

He needs to pee, Taekwoon’s bladder supplies him with a distraction. Taekwoon doesn’t need to think twice before abandoning all hopes of sleep and pushing the heavy cabin door open in search of the bathroom.

The harsh morning sun temporarily blinds him, and the loud bustling of campers temporarily deafens him. So Taekwoon takes a moment. When he finally does, Woah.

A group of Satyrs playing reed pipes bustle past, a kid around Hyuk’s age is munching on a cherry Coke can like an apple. No big deal. A herd of gossiping Centaurs follow, galloping and laughing heartily. So half human half satyrs and half horses exist, cool. They like to eat aluminium and giggle like high schoolers, obviously.

Taekwoon feels a little faint and fuzzy around the edges because sure, yeah. Totally normal.

A voice carries a jolly tune and Taekwoon’s dramatic swooning is grounded immediately because he recognises the song.

It’s the only song his ‘dropout school’ roommate, Hyuk, knew how to play on his tiny reed pipe. He always wondered why someone so big like Hyuk would choose to learn a teeny reed pipe of all instruments. Whenever he asked, Hyuk would snicker cheekily like there was some inside joke that Taekwoon was supposed to get.

Taekwoon sees but doesn’t believe his eyes when the intermingling harmonies of the instruments and vocalist causes the surrounding vegetation of the nearby cabins to visibly bustle and blossom pink floral hues with their woodland magic.

Looking around at the floral cabins to his right, Taekwoon realises that he was wrong about the ‘ominous structure’ of the camp. Of all 20 uniquely decorated cabins surrounding him, 8 cabins stand proudly to his left and 11 to his right. Taekwoon’s eyes widen as he really takes in the community of cabins surrounding the central brightly blazing hearth for the first time.

It’s beautiful.

But the largest two cabins to his left particularly catch his eye. Because unlike the other cabins, the two appear more like marble mansions. One ornamented with lightning bolts and holographic doors, the other with pomegranates, animated cuckoo birds, and an elegant floral structure.

As much as Taekwoon wants to pretend that this camp is just another summer camp, the decor of all the cabins, the living myths that casually walk through the camp, make it hard to ignore what everything in the camp represents:

Gods, damn it.

Taekwoon turns to examine the exterior craftsmanship of his own cabin hesitantly.

The cabin is lower but longer than the others, with its windows facing the sea. The walls are rough with grey stone and a breathtaking assortment of coral, making the cabin look like it’s been pulled right out of the Great Barrier Reef. Taekwoon just stares in awe at the giant golden trident and proudly gleaming 3 at the top for a while, lost in thought.

The sensation of his pressing bladder brings Taekwoon back to his mission of hunting down the bathroom. So he pads barefoot through the soft grassy field, hot air warming the chilly March air as he passes the blazing hearth.

The bathroom is easy enough to find. Just past the hearth, but not quite as far as the majority of double-digit cabins stands the large concrete structure labelled ‘Boys Bathroom’. Taekwoon ventures through a surprisingly clean maze of the locker room, where kids younger than Taekwoon were changing in and out of what looked like battle armour. He thinks he sees a glimmer of light catching on sharp metal, but he’s too busy running into the nearest available cubicle of the bath section to be sure.

"Oh, Leo! You're up already!” He hears N's smile call out to him. His brain takes a second to register the odd nickname. Taekwoon is washing his hands, deep in his theories about how the boy’s bathroom could be so clean. “I didn’t think you'd be up so early after last night, otherwise I would’ve just met you in your cabin."

Taekwoon turns around to see N stripped down to nothing but a towel around his waist as he shampoos a younger grey haired boy who’s sitting on a small wooden stool in an open shower stall, looking suspiciously asleep.

Taekwoon briefly wonders which cabin N stays in. Then he shakes himself sternly. What doesn’t it matter? He’s not going to stay at this camp, he needs to get home.

Taekwoon also thinks that everyone in the changing room would collectively agree that N should learn to wear some clothes.

"Ooh, Hyung, what happened last night?" a sweaty teen, not much older than Hyuk Taekwoon guesses, walks into the changing area. A very real bow and arrow is slung casually over his left shoulder. His attractive flower boy features contort awkwardly in a wink.

"Hongbin?" The sleeping grey-hair startles slightly awake at the sound of the flower boy's deep voice.

"You’re so dirty it’s hard to believe you’re not Aphrodite’s," nags N, "Shower number 5 to wash off your filth. Wonshik, stop moving or you’ll get soap in your eyes."

Wonshik grumbles from under N's scrutinizing grip and returns to sleep. As if suddenly recalling Taekwoon’s presence, N turns and offers an apologetic smile. Taekwoon is awfully confused.

"It’s a long story," N shrugs.

Taekwoon thinks that N looks even more in his own element than last night, if possible. It’s almost like N has an ability to fit in to where he is. Here, N emits a contagious happiness as he comfortably smothers everyone with motherly affection. Taekwoon’s not sure if he envies or admires that.

"This is Wonshikki," N lovingly sticks a soapy finger into the sleeping man’s ear, which makes Wonshik emit a low rumble in complaint. "He’s the son of two Hypnos and Ares demigods, but he’s usually in Hypnos’ cabin," N laughs as Wonshik starts to doze off despite the stream of soap dripping down his back. “We only have one other ‘double demi’ here so despite his appearance, Wonshik is actually a pretty rare sight.”

Taekwoon takes in the information and something finally clicks into place.

20 cabins. 20 major and minor Greek Gods. If they called him Son of Poseidon, is everyone at the camp related to a Greek God?

Who’s N’s related to?

Before Taekwoon can ask, N interjects, "I need to help Wonshikki finish so he doesn't fall asleep in the shower. Why don’t you grab a towel and freshen up?"

Taekwoon forgets about what they’re talking about because the only towel in sight is obviously wrapped around his slim waist.

N just laughs and points to the huge pile of orange towels on the counter by the hair dryers. The smile he gives Taekwoon threatens to melt his defences like an iceberg in summer.

Taekwoon grabs a towel and flees to the last empty shower in a flustered moment, to avoid N’s honey laughter.

"Does Hyung have a toy?”

Taekwoon can't really hear through the thick frosted shower door as he turns the faucet on. But he readily anticipates the hot stream of clean water. He feels filthy. Feet covered in mossy dirt, hair still caked in grease and sand.

“I can almost taste your charmspeak from outside, Hyung.” Someone complains.

Where's the shampoo-

BOOM.

The insistent chatter in bathroom stops.

Taekwoon blinks in shock at where the shower faucet was located a second ago, then to where it lies after shattering the floor’s tiles into lethal shards.

Taekwoon is soaked and sporting a rapidly bleeding cut on his thigh.

"Leo! Was that you? Are you okay?" Taekwoon hears N call out from the next stall over, voice getting closer with each question.

Taekwoon grabs his wet towel and quickly wraps it around his waist to hide the injury. There are specks of blood over some tiles, but if Taekwoon just pulls on his white overshirt to make it seem like he showered, he’s good. He’s fine.

He shakily escapes the humid confinement of the shower and stutters to no one in particular, "Number 3 is out of use,” before getting out of there as fast as he can. An obnoxiously loud, operatic voice from stall 6 effectively blocks out any of N's protests and Taekwoon all but runs his way back to his cabin.

To be honest, Taekwoon isn’t even concerned about the cut because he’s never had a scar, he’s never even had a scab for more than two days.

Well, that was until now, apparently. It takes him a few minutes of staring at the blood trickling down his leg to register the fact that he always recovered within a day or two because he'd always swim or shower within that time span, and the water would soothe his aching wounds silently.

In a moment of surprisingly clear definition, he understands that water can heal him. The same way that he understands that this dispute with his Father is serious: deeply and instinctively.

A long, shallow gash runs all the way across the expanse of his left thigh, missing his knee by an inch. It could have been really bad. Red starts to stain through the thick orange towel he’s wrapped around his hips. He feels a little sick; maybe from confusion, maybe the blood.

He slumps back onto his unmade bed, making sure to stick his legs out over the edge of the bed to avoid bleeding onto the sheer silk sheets. Taekwoon lets out a long exhale, certain that he’s going to need some miracle to help him survive Poseidon’s gruelling wrath.

When N comes to check on Taekwoon an hour later, equipped with orange shirts, decorated with ‘CAMP HALF-BLOOD’ in bold black letters, and a few pairs of sweatshorts, Taekwoon hasn’t moved.

N clicks his tongue in disapproval at the wet towel still wrapped loosely around Taekwoon. Unfazed by his nakedness, N starts to peel off the wet towel from Taekwoon's damp thighs, when he notices the red.

In the same moment, Taekwoon jolts upright and N squeaks,"Oh my Gods, I’m so sorry I- Are you on your period?"

"...No?"

"Wha-," a flash of emotions flicker on N’s face. He decides to settle with distraught happiness. Like a puppy trying to frown.

N stares at Taekwoon, "You do talk."

Taekwoon can’t help but snort at his expression.

"Hey! Don't laugh at your elders. I’m a 90 liner!" N pushes teasingly, proud of his seniority.

"I’m November 10th," Taekwoon begins to bargain.

"Call me Hyung, then." N’s sappy smile sends a chill down Taekwoon’s spine. Damn, really?

He gives N a look and stands up gingerly, feeling vulnerable in his towel.

N realises, if Leo is very much male, then that stain of blood on his towel is not a natural process of menstruation.

"Care to explain?"

"No."

N looks at Taekwoon. Unimpressed, he reaches out to grab the corner of Taekwoon’s bloodied towel.

Taekwoon hand catches N's wrist in a tight grip, stopping him instantly. His eyes flicker with apprehension so quickly that N isn’t actually sure it happens.

"Stop."

N’s gaze softens. He stands with his hands on his hips. "Why?" His smile looks more disappointed than anything.

Taekwoon feels a pang in his chest at N’s expression, and snaps.

“Why am I here? What do you want? When can I leave?” He barrages N with questions in panic as if rising to the bait in order to hide the urge to buckle under N's disapproval. The thought of N being disappointed in Taekwoon should’ve meant nothing to Taekwoon.

But it makes his chest uncomfortably tight and fuck if that doesn’t just confuse Taekwoon.

In fact, the whole situation irks Taekwoon. Sure, N is willing to show Taekwoon the ropes of the camp, and sure, everyone comes from as strange of a background as he does, but Taekwoon feels miserable because Poseidon is out to get Taekwoon. Hell, who’s going to believe Taekwoon? He’s never heard of a God getting angry with his demigod son for being an ungrateful little shit.

In fact, it irks Taekwoon even more that he’s stuck in the situation because after all the hell his Father put him and his Mom through, Taekwoon has a damn right to be ungrateful. Though bitter, he firmly believes that he shouldn’t even be put through a punishment, to begin with.

He refuses to give in to Him like this. He won’t apologise.

Taekwoon's temper is brought to a halt when he feels something wet rains down back. Both Taekwoon and N look up and see a literal grey cloud hanging above Taekwoon’s head. It drizzles comically onto Taekwoon’s hair as if to rub in the fact that Taekwoon has no control over his fate.

N starts laughing.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry,” N fans his face, “I wasn’t expecting a cloud above your head to literally appear. I've never seen that before.”

Taekwoon feels heat rising to his cheeks. He at the cloud in embarrassment until it dissipates into the humidity of the cabin then finally turns around and pulls on the clothes N offers him, tying the towel tightly around the wound.

“Let me see it,” At least N has the decency to wait until Taekwoon is clothed before squatting down in front of Taekwoon’s left thigh, flocking to his injury like a mother to their child's pain.

“No.”

“Leo,” N frowns.

“It’s Taekwoon.”

N's eyebrows reach his mussy, sea-swept hairline and opens his mouth to say something when the flower boy from earlier barges rudely into the cabin.

“Hakyeon Hyung! Hurry up, we’re going to be late to my shift!” Hongbin freezes as he takes in the sight of N on his knees in front of the Son of Poseidon, aka fresh meat, aka newbie camper, and blinks. “Am I-”

“No.” Taekwoon tears his gaze away from N’s.

He steps back deliberately and puts space in between him and _Hakyeon_. The more distance he puts between them, the more Taekwoon feels in control of himself. He’s pulling away in more ways than one, defenses finally kicking back into their rightful place.

“Hakyeon-”

“Yes yes. Come, my children.”

N, no, _Hakyeon_ dusts off his knees dramatically and pulls Hongbin out of the cabin by one hand, and gestures to Taekwoon to follow with the other. Taekwoon does, because what else is he supposed to do?

Together, they take the gravel path from the cabins to the bridge over the lake.

Hakyeon stops repeatedly despite Hongbin’s complaints about being late, to greet dozens of campers with kind doting and ‘Good Morning’s, even stopping once to heat up his hands by the lit fire pit, which Taekwoon learns is Hestia’s hearth. Hakyeon says it’s tradition to do so, so Taekwoon also heats his colds hands up. But Hongbin just rolls his eyes.

“If you’re the only one who does it, that doesn’t make it a tradition.”

Eventually, they arrive in front of a large wooden cabin. But not really cabin. A log mansion? Its size makes even the biggest cabins dwarf in comparison, and Taekwoon is immediately filled with nerves.

He feels something significant impending.

“Taekwoon,” Hakyeon pats his shoulder and Taekwoon suppresses the urge to shudder.

All Hakyeon did was call Taekwoon by his name but Taekwoon reacts strangely and he’s not sure what the growing hum of electricity in the cool spring air between them means. Hakyeon's gaze is practically boring a hole into Taekwoon's that he has to look away. It’s so abstract and uncertain that he thinks he might be getting sick with the way his face feels so hot around Hakyeon.

“This is the Big House, Hongbin will take you from here,” Hakyeon just continues like Taekwoon isn’t as red as a tomato, maybe trying to let Taekwoon retain some dignity. 

And Hakyeon is all up in Taekwoon’s personal space one second and distant like a stranger the next so Taekwoon feels stupid for even wanting to ask where Hakyeon is going and why he can’t take Taekwoon with him. It feels stupid to ask so he doesn't.

But then Hakyeon is cheerfully waving goodbye to them and then Hongbin and the horse-man from yesterday are standing on the porch of the Big House and discussing his being late to his shifts too often. Then Taekwoon is inside the warm log cabin and Hakyeon is gone.

“Welcome to Camp Half-Blood," Taekwoon looks at the Half-Horse man through a daze. The Half Horse Man’s eyes are kind but stern. Centaur. The Centaur’s eyes.

There is a tension in the dry cabin air that is thick like wax. Taekwoon wonders what that means.

“Before we get to the introductions, I’ve been instructed to have you talk to the oracle.”

“What, already? He’s not even close ready, what is _he_ thinking?” Hongbin must notice something in the strain behind the Centaur’s tight smile because he falls quiet quickly. It takes a moment and Hongbin does not hide his distaste nor concern but he still nods curtly. “I understand.”

“Hold on, I don't understand.” Taekwoon struggles against Hongbin as the flower boy corners him up a creaky staircase wordlessly, lips pursed tightly together and shoulders tense. He herds Taekwoon like a dog herding sheep and Taekwoon doesn’t want to accidentally crack Hongbin’s neck down an oak staircase today so he holds down the urge to fight him off.

“Look, just go in and listen closely.” Hongbin doesn’t let Taekwoon have a say, “Just do it. Don’t ask questions. We’ll explain later.”

He opens the ancient door to the upstairs room and pushes Taekwoon straight into a dark, dusty, cobwebbed room. Taekwoon coughs in protest, his eyes straining to adjust to the darkness.

A chill runs down his spine as he slowly makes out a green glow in the vague, uncertain blackness. He thinks he’s mistaken until the green light grows. He thinks he sees someone. The light grows, enough for Taekwoon to see that the green light is coming out of the sunken eyes of an old body. The light grows, and Taekwoon hears himself praying something to someone, anything to anyone. But all he hears in response is an approaching, low growling to his left.

The light grows, until the growing rumble consumes Taekwoon with a scream in an ocean of suffocating green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yooooo thank you for the support! It makes it all the more enjoyable to write this fic knowing that others are enjoying it. Though it took me two years to sit down and do it, I've actually finished the plot line and have a clear idea of how the fic is going to go. It's on my bucket list to actually finish this fic, as ridiculously easy as that may sound, so let's do this.
> 
> I look forward to sharing this baby of a story with you!  
> Feel free to bug me on twitter and complain if I update too slow :-) @vorosmrthy


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